


raise a glass to the college grads

by catsilhouette



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Pining, There's drinking involved, and orange soda, and post-grad partying, rans likes holtzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsilhouette/pseuds/catsilhouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They’d be leaving soon. This was nearly over, it was the last time he’d be here, like this, and up until yesterday he thought he’d strip on the table (sober). And now, well – now he feels a little like crying and a lot like he wants to get out of here with Holster."</p>
            </blockquote>





	raise a glass to the college grads

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Beyoncé's Run the World (Girls). Many many thanks to Querulousgawks for the feedback!

“Raise a glass to the college grads,” Holster says, bumping his solo cup against Ransom’s, yelping as it overflowed. “Sorry, bro.”

 

“You’re just trying to ruin these shorts for the millionth time.” Rans shrugs, leaning against the wall. “It’s cool.”

 

Behind him, Bitty wrestles a bottle of vodka away from Chowder. Dex and Nursey argue in another corner, the fire in their eyes muted.

 

“Or,” Holster says, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously, “I’m just trying to get them off.” His arm is warm and his cheeks flushed. The color looks good on him.

 

Rans forces a laugh and pushes him away. That would be easy to believe – better, really, for all parties involved.  He looks down. His cup’s empty. Holster moves closer.

 

In the distance, he hears Lardo win another round of flip cup.

 

“I’m going to go get a refill,” He yells in Holster’s ear, nudging their shoulders together. “Be right back.”

 

Holster salutes him as Ransom backs away, bumping into two girls and the doorway. He apologizes and offers to get them drinks, eyes on Holster. He feels something in his chest wobble.

 

Cups are filled, handed off, drained. He finds a Natty Light and pops it open for Chowder, who’s sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter.

 

Suddenly, Holster’s next to him. “Wanna play Land Mines?”

 

Rans shrugs. “Maybe later.” Holster’s face is still all blushy and red, and his hand is still on Ransom’s shoulder. He doesn’t recall Holster being an affectionate drunk. Oddly enough, it reminds him of orange soda, the warm, tangy feel of it bubbling on your tongue.

 

There were _guys_ and now there’s _Holster_ and Rans is fairly sure he wants to sleep with both.

 

He reaches for a shot, throws it back, winces at the burn. His fingers feel loose, warm. His head feels fuzzy. Oh, this is good. This is _really_ good.

 

Another shot.

 

He _really_ wants orange soda.

 

The fairy lights he’d helped Holster string up this morning seem almost sharper now. They twinkle around Holster’s head: pink, blue, green, like some sort of a battery-powered Halloween tiara.

 

Rans snorts. Orange soda and princess tiaras. This is what he turns into.

 

Another shot.

 

He should just go for it, right? Just grab Holster by his stupid DIY hair, smash his face into that dumb smirk, those dumb glasses, those dumb _eyes_. Run his hands over those shoulders, feel those arms tighten around him –

 

“Do you have any orange soda?” he feels himself ask, and he sees Holster nod as if this is totally normal and of course it is because this is _Holster_ and all he ever does is watch out for Ransom. He watches as Holster ducks behind the counter and brings out Fanta ( _god this boy really is magic_ ) and mixes it with something in a tall bottle. Rans squints but the label is still blurry. Eh.

 

They switch cups and Ransom takes a long sip, letting his mouth linger at the edge. Holster’s mouth was here twenty seconds ago. This counts. This totally counts.

 

He licks the lip of the cup. It tastes nice.

 

They’d be leaving soon. This was nearly over, it was the last time he’d be here, like this, and up until yesterday he thought he’d strip on the table (sober). And now, well – now he feels a little like crying and a lot like he wants to get out of here with Holster.

 

He can feel Holster’s eyes on him – how long has he been staring like that? Well. Doesn’t matter.

 

“What’s up?” _This doesn’t feel right._  

 

Holster says nothing. Shakes his head. Rans nods because he gets it, and rests his head gently against Holster’s shoulder just for a second, because he really _isn’t_ that sleepy but also – well, Holster looks like he could use it. What a wreck.

 

What’s surprising is feeling Holster’s hand on his shoulder at the exact moment he plans on pulling away, then changes his mind because Holster’s hands are huge and warm and honestly very nice to feel against your shoulder like that. He bumps his cup against Holster’s.

 

“Cheers, bro.”

 

He feels Holster say something but doesn’t hear it, not with the din of the party clouding his ears, not with the thrum of _HOLSTERHOLSTERHOLSTER_ under his ear, not with the aftertaste of orange soda in his mouth, sticky and sweet.

 

It’s okay.

 

“You wanna follow me?” Rans murmurs, and he says it quietly, lets the words leave his mouth softly just in case Holster wants to pretend they never happened, in case he wants to let this slip away quickly and quietly, like tiny kitten feet.

 

He feels Holster exhale and hold his breath for a long moment, and he stays still. His eyes are closed. He can see stars swirling. Holster’s hand slides down lower.

 

“Lead the way,” and oh, Holster’s fingers are wound in Ransom’s belt loops – in those salmon belt loops on those salmon shorts, and oh _god_ his voice is suddenly low and soft and _right_ at Ransom’s ear.

 

So he does – stumbling a little, still holding on to the orange soda like it’s the reason Holster’s hand is on his ass right now. He takes the stairs one at a time, stepping forward with his right foot, left foot trailing behind, and he hears Holster patiently following his lead. It takes them ages to reach the attic, and he swallows for a long moment before he unlocks the door.

 

After all, mornings are made for picking up all those pieces.


End file.
